


Footprints

by twtd



Series: Perfume and Rain [3]
Category: Law and Order SVU - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the rain falls, Liz unsuccessfully tries to finish some work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footprints

The rain splashed against the flagstone of the patio ricocheting outward and upward, occasionally landing on the feet resting just under the edge of the awning. It was not a gentle rain, not a brief summer shower. They were not the fat drops perfect for reliving a childhood, for standing under and tilting her face to meet them as they plummeted down. Had it been, Liz would not have come outside, would not have wanted to sit at its edges as she finished her work. She didn't mind the tiny stings that hit her feet and ankles; they left only a fleeting impression.

 

Before the storm had broken, it had been oppressively hot and the first drops threatened only to make it worse, to turn the air thick, damp, and heavy. But as the rain persisted, the temperature cooled until it verged on uncomfortable again. Liz didn't particularly mind the chill, but if it got much colder, she would have to find some sort blanket. Either that, or she would have to go back inside. Both would upset the careful equilibrium that she had created, the perfectly balanced stacks of paper, the notepad that had finally settled into just the right angle. Rather than moving, she simply pulled her shoulders closer together hoping that would buy enough time to finish the article she was writing. She wrote faster. Her legs were already starting to prickle with the cold and she almost wished for a return to the earlier heat and humidity.

 

Pausing in the middle of a sentence, Liz sighed with the realization that it would be at least a day before the temperature began to rise again, that before it finally set, the sun would be nothing more than a sliver between the horizon and the cloud cover. As moving became an inevitable reality, she gathered up her papers and uncurled from the chaise lounge. The flagstones retained an echo of their earlier warmth and she didn't avoid the puddles and rivulets that collected on them as she walked to the back door. She would clean the faint footprints off of the kitchen floor tomorrow, before Casey could see them and assume some undue influence, some slackening of her exterior rigidity.

 

The trial was dragging on and it was starting to wear on their relationship. She might see Casey more when she was her trial judge, but they were impersonal hours filled with affected disinterest. How long could they pretend not to care about one another before the act became reality? It wasn't something that she wanted to find out, but she was beginning to feel like it was inevitable. The scent of Casey's perfume had already faded, overwhelmed by Liz's own. As she put papers down onto the kitchen counter, she glanced over at the telephone, tempted to break one of their many unspoken rules. But she couldn't connect the thought to any kind of positive action. Instead, she continued on into the living room, knowing that she would spend another night alone.


End file.
